The Four Seasons (28 page)

Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders, long and firm, pulling her up from the railing to his chest. She felt like a small pebble in the river, caught in the upstream. It felt so natural to step closer, to wrap her arms around his back, to rest her cheek
upon the scratchy wool of his coat as his long arms wrapped tight around her, comforting her. He held her close against the cold night. She could smell the exotic scent of his aftershave and some delicious spice that she didn't recognize. His fingers brushed the hair away from her face. From somewhere in the night she heard the river rush.

He dipped his head. She raised hers. His lips met hers as easily, as readily, as though they had kissed many times before. She felt the kiss spark at the lips, then flow smoothly throughout her body, transported through her bloodstream, liquid and hot, up and down and swirling in her center. His arms tightened around her and his tongue coaxed her mouth open, testing, tasting. When he drew back she clung to him, grasping her fingers around his neck and pulling him close. His mouth crushed hers, this time urgent and demanding. She opened, coaxing, pleading with her tongue as her body pressed against his for the release she so desperately needed. It had been so long since she'd felt like this.

When he pulled back the second time, he reached up to gently disentangle her fingers from his neck. She opened her eyes, so close to his, and was stunned by the animal-like ferocity she saw in them once again.

“Is there somewhere we can go?” she asked.

She saw in his face his struggle to tug back on that mental leash he held in such rigid control. He still held her hands and brought them up to his lips to kiss each one before letting them go.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

She struggled with the rejection, stepping back. She raked her hand through her hair, grateful that the night cloaked her blush. “Maybe not,” she replied flippantly. From off in the parking lot she heard a grinding of tires. Looking out, she caught sight of a pizza delivery sign over an old sedan.

“Well then, see you.” She tucked her hands, icy now, in her pockets and began to walk past him. His arm shot out to hold her back.

“I know you're vulnerable now,” he said, his eyes piercing in the moonlight. “I don't want to take advantage.”

She looked into his eyes and this time resented the sympathy she saw there. She jerked his hand away, tucked her hand back into her pocket and forced a confident smile that was well-practiced and expertly delivered.

“Rajiv, if you knew me better, you'd know that no one takes advantage of Jillian Season.”

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY WAS BLEAK
and rainy, as though nature were trying to match the weather with their moods. The motel seemed even uglier in bad weather, if such a thing was possible. Birdie lay in bed under the covers in a comatose state. She'd awakened with the dawn, such as it was, and had lain motionless, going over and over in her mind how she could possibly not have known she was pregnant.

Yes, she knew she was late with her period, but that was not uncommon for her. At forty-one, she wrote off the early signs of pregnancy as symptoms of early menopause. If only she'd taken a simple test. If only she'd stayed home and rested.

She sniffed and swiped the tears from her cheek, scolding herself for being so emotional. She was acting immature and irrational. As a physician she knew a miscarriage was no one's fault. Even if she'd gone straight to bed and kept her feet up, there was no guarantee that she'd have kept the baby. It was nature's way.

Then why did she feel such loss?

She wanted her husband. It felt wrong to be going through this ordeal without him. This was his loss as much as hers. He should know. But this wasn't the kind of message one left on an answering machine.

Where was he? Why didn't he call her back? Was he just angry or was it possible that she'd lost him as well as her child? She pressed her hands together and brought them to her lips. That thought was crushing. As she lay prone, staring out at the bleak dawn, Birdie came to the realization that her life was falling apart.

She'd tried pretending for so many days that Dennis hadn't meant what he'd said in Evanston. That he hadn't really left her. But each day that he wasn't home, that he didn't call, was a battering ram breaking down her wall of pretense. Pounding, pounding, until all the pressures and responsibilities that she held so tightly inside of her burst and bled out in huge, fist-size clots.

“I can't do it anymore,” she whimpered, pressing her fist against her lips, trying hard to hold back the cry. She felt something crack deep inside of her.
I'm not perfect. I can't solve all the problems. I can't save anyone. Not even myself
.

Years later she'd still remember what felt like a splitting open, similar to an earthquake when the pressure builds and the earth shifts and there is a terrible roaring, renting sound as the land tears apart. After the release she began to sob—hard, shoulder-shaking heaves that she couldn't control. She cried loudly, openly, letting the anguish pour out as the blood had flowed the night before. She became aware of Rose rising up beside her, hurrying to her bed, not saying a word, just wrapping her arms around her and rocking her, back and forth like a child as she wept unashamedly. Her sister's delicate fingers smoothed the hair from her face as she crooned in her beautiful voice, “Good, Birdie. Good. Let it all out. That's right. You're not alone. I love you.”

 

Jilly came into the room hours later carrying a beautiful tray covered with a blue-and-white-checked linen tablecloth. Under her arm, she was carrying a huge bouquet of spring flowers.

“Surprise! Wake up, sleepyhead. Time for breakfast!”

Birdie's body ached and she wasn't the least bit ready for breakfast or a happy face. She didn't know how long she'd wept, or how long she'd slept afterward, but she did know it wasn't nearly long enough. But Jilly was determinedly cheerful, so she offered a tremulous smile and begrudgingly dragged herself up to her elbows. Moving, she felt a gush of blood flow from her body.

“Damn. Wait a minute,” she said, hurrying as fast as she could with the diaperlike pad between her legs. When she came back into the room, she saw that Jilly had arranged the flowers in a vase near her bed, tidied up the room and cracked open the window. The scent of rain-fresh air cut through the staleness of the room.

“Come have breakfast,” Jilly said, folding back the covers.

Birdie saw that she'd also changed the linen. The crisp sheets smelled of bleach and were heavenly against her skin. Small kindnesses such as these were blessings.

“Thank you,” she said, climbing into the glorious sheets.

“Oh, it's nothing,” Jilly replied with a too eager smile. “I am at your service.”

Birdie rested back against the pillows and studied Jilly more closely. With her hair freshly washed and tucked neatly behind her ears and wearing a fresh white cropped shirt over slender slacks, Jilly had the air of the perfect hostess. Her bright cheerfulness seemed more like armor, however, one Birdie had seen her use when she put on a front for strangers. Was she making her sister nervous now, she wondered?

“I'm okay, you know,” she said, meeting Jilly's eye. “I'm not falling apart or about to throw myself into the river or anything.”

Jilly's smile faltered but she rallied. She came to sit on the bed beside Birdie and busied herself with smoothing the blankets around Birdie's waist, then moved the laden breakfast tray up on her lap.

“I know you're not,” she answered perfunctorily. Then switching the subject, “I hope you like a hale-and-hearty breakfast. Eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. Courtesy of Maude and Larry.”

“Rose told you that I cried, didn't she?”

Jilly poured out coffee from a thermos into the china cup, then added cream to it and handed it to Birdie.

“Buckets,” she replied. She poured a cup for herself. When she looked up, she met Birdie's relentless gaze. Her face softened. “I'm glad you cried. You don't do it enough. It's not fair to you to always be so strong. You need to let us be strong for you once in a while. We can handle it, you know.” She placed her hand over Birdie's. “Goodbye, Iron Bird.”

Birdie felt as though another wave of tears was going to hit and turned her head away. “Stop,” she said with a curt laugh. “I can't seem to turn off the spigot.”

“You've got years of stored tears to let go. Let 'em flow.”

“It's so embarrassing. I hate to cry. It makes me feel so vulnerable.”

“Maybe because you are right now. You've just had a miscarriage, honey. You'd have to be rocky now. No one is that strong. How are you doing?”

“It's not like I haven't had one before.”

“How many have you had?”

“Four. Five, something like that. You're not always sure. I'm not even sure this time. It's possible that it's just a bout of unexplained uterine bleeding. It happens at our age.”

“Does that make it easier to deal with?”

Birdie shrugged. “Not really. I'm dealing with the same issue whether it's a miscarriage or menopause. I'm not going to have any more babies.”

Jilly's eyes were dark green pools of sympathy. “Neither of us are.”

They sipped their coffee in unison, then lowered their cups.

“I cried like that once,” Jilly said in an offhand manner.

“At the hospital?”

She nodded. “After I had my baby I cried all night long. And when I woke up, I didn't have any tears left. Or so I thought.” She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “I just kept them bottled up for all those years. We're talking gallons and gallons of tears stored up in there, like a camel. But once they're released, whew. It's pitiful. I've been crying since I got home. The memories keep coming and I keep crying. I feel like I'm washing my brain out with tears.”

“Maybe that's not a bad thing. A cleansing, the way a doctor washes out a wound.”

“Sometimes it feels like an eruption. I was reading about how these scientists believe there's all this water building pressure under the ocean floor. It got trapped there millions of years ago when the earth's plates were shifting. They're worried that all this pressure is just building up in there and that one of these days, it's going to blow. If it leaks out slowly, then the water tables might rise, but we can deal with it. But if the ocean floor cracks, it will cause these humongous waves to hit the shore. Can you imagine? Some poor guy on the Jersey shore reading
Jaws
will sense a shadow and look up to see this enormous tsunami heading his way!”

Birdie chuckled but inside she knew what Jilly was trying to tell her. It must have been obvious to everyone how the pressure had been building up in her. She'd felt the rent and
tearing of the eruption that morning and she was still feeling the aftershocks. “Are you saying Dennis is going to be hit by a tsunami of my emotion?”

“Better him than me,” Jilly replied with a teasing smile. “No,” she added seriously. “I'm just glad to hear you acknowledge that you need to let the pressure out. Me, too. God knows we've both been storing it up for what feels like millions of years.”

“I think talking like this helps ease out some of that pressure.”

“We haven't talked like this in so long. Not since we were roomies. I didn't think we ever would again. I've missed you, Birdie.”

Birdie felt the impact of the statement seep slowly into her mind. “I'll probably cry about that one, too. Give me a few minutes to store up some fluid.”

Jilly picked up her coffee cup and lifted it as if in a toast. “Good!”

“You're remarkable, do you know that?”

Jilly looked surprised. “Me? Heavens, why?”

“I've marveled at your resilience on this whole trip. You come home with problems of your own, and then bam! We hit you with this search for Spring. All your history is hitting you at once, yet you are still able to bring me fresh flowers and a cheery face. I wish I had your optimism.”

“Optimism is what you cling to when you've nothing else,” she replied. “Besides, remember those tears we talked about?” Birdie nodded. “Still happening.”

Birdie poked at the food with her fork then set it down, unable to eat a bite. “Jilly, what should I do? I think Dennis has really left me.”

Jilly took a deep breath and exhaled a plume of air. “You know, you haven't asked me for my advice since you were
fifteen. This is quite a moment for me.” After a pause, she looked at her aslant and asked, “Do you want him back?”

Birdie nodded. “Yes. I do.”

“Then you'll have to work to get him back. Men's egos are like spun glass. Beautiful, but oh so fragile. I think women are stronger, really. More resilient. But when a woman is as outwardly strong as you, it's hard for a man to compete.”

“I'm not so strong.”

“Oh, yes you are. You might be feeling fragile now, but you'll rally again. You'll set a new goal in front of you like a carrot, then strap yourself to the harness and plow, plow, plow. You've always been like that. It's one of your strengths, you shouldn't change that. But you might let Dennis be strong with you. Flatter him. Flirt with him. He's a man, not another child. And he loves you, Birdie. Anyone can see that.”

She plucked at her robe's sleeve and whispered her greatest fear. “I don't know that he does.”

“He told me so. Before he left.”

She looked up sharply. “He told you that? What did he say, exactly?”

“God, Birdie, I don't remember verbatim!”

“Just give me the general idea. I mean, what were you talking about that he'd suddenly tell you that he loved me?”

“Well,” Jilly puffed out air, recollecting. “He was chasing Hannah to get her to go home with him and I was trying to stop him. There was some talk about him leaving you and I asked him if he loved you, or something like that.”

“And he said he did?”

Jilly looked at Birdie steadily and nodded. “He sure did.”

Birdie swallowed the words whole for breakfast and she felt filled with happiness. Dennis had said he loved her…. Hope swelled in her chest. “I don't know what's going on,” she said
plaintively. “I've been calling and calling but I keep getting the answering machine. Where could he be all night? I never suspected anything before but now I'm afraid there might be someone else.”

“Dennis fooling around?” Jilly thought for a minute then shook her head. “Nah. I doubt it. At least, not yet. I wouldn't have too long of a separation, though. Not now when things are so iffy between the two of you.” She stretched out on the mattress, resting her head on her palm. “I meant to talk to you about this. I know Hannah has to go back to school next week. Maybe you should go back home. Rose and I will carry on. And we'll call you if anything turns up. You can always meet us wherever. I don't want you to risk your marriage on account of this.”

“I don't know what it is, Jilly, but I have a strong sense that I need to be here. With you and Rose, and Hannah, too, to see it through. It's like I'm recharging my batteries on this trip. I'm feeling like my old self. Sometimes when I'm out jogging or sitting out back just looking at the river roll by, the old me emerges. I recognize her and smile and think, Well, hello again. You're back.” She looked up. “But she doesn't stay. I slip back into my old ways.”

“Keep calling her back.”

“I will. I am. That's why I'm not quite ready to go home yet. Plus…I really think we'll find Spring.”